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Remembering Piazza

by Lew Brickhate
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I went down to CHAVEZ RAVINE
With sandpaper and VASELINE.

You see, my goal that NIGHT
Was to strike out Magic MIKE,

Catcher for the Dodger BLUE,
Part of the LaSorda CREW.

He granted me my one big WISH,
Which was to throw a major league PITCH,

But he hit it all NIGHT,
He hit it all NIGHT,
Off the walls, off the LIGHTS,

Fastball, spitball, knuckleball, CURVE,
Seems I got what I DESERVE.

He cracked a line drive back up the MIDDLE,
Solving for me my greatest RIDDLE:

Was I cut out for major league BALL,
Or just to sing about it at some MALL?

The question was all too CLEAR.
I am still glad I have my PAIR,

‘Cause he hit it all NIGHT,
He hit it all NIGHT…..

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Posted 5/5/09

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Sitting in Box Seats During Later Innings

By Tom Dyja

with apologies to Robert Frost

Whose seats these are, I think I know.
He lives in Elk Grove Village, though.
He will not see us sitting here
To watch Samardzija rear and throw.

My little son must think it queer
That I’m not tossing back a beer.
But since crap wage is all I make,
Eight bucks for Bud felt sort of dear.

The usher comes, gives me a shake
Because he knows there’s some mistake.
My kid’s just six. Who cares? The creep
Makes sure he knows that I’m a fake.

The ivy shudders, dark and deep.
But all I want to do is weep.
The seats I bought were way too cheap.
The seats I bought were way too cheap.

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Tom Dyja is the author most recently of Walter White: The Dilemma of Black Identity in America, as well as the novels The Moon in Our Hands, Meet John Trow, and the Civil War baseball novel Play for a Kingdom.

Posted 5/4/09.

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Vaya Con Dios, Bazardo

by James Finn Garner

Bazardo, Bazardo, Bazardo, Bazardo,
Batters with hits your field did bombard-o,
Yorman, my man, hits the boulevard-o,
Cut by the Phils with flip disregard-o.

Bazardo, Bazardo, Bazardo, Bazardo,
Though scratched from the Tigers’ and Phillies’ scorecard-o,
I hope you retain your own self-regard-o
And don’t mope and think you’re somehow ill-starred-o,
Or drown your sorrows in amontillado,
Or vanish from sight, incommunicado.

Bazardo, Bazardo, Bazardo, Bazardo,
While no setback leaves a person unscarred-o,
Don’t think yourself with failure much tarred-o,
Or believe that old “washed up” canard-o,
Because at least to the baseball ‘ficionado,
You gave us the chance to holler

“BAZARDO!”

For an earlier poem about Yorman Bazardo, click here.

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Posted 4/30/09

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Yankee Haiku

by Larry Epke

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I thought I’d seen all
‘Til I heard the words, “Pitching
For New York – Swisher!”

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Posted 4/29/09